Speaking Hypothetically
by akmdreamer
Summary: Harry has a problem. What else to do but go to his big sister? However...who says he's gonna make it easier for everyone and actually tell her what the problem is?  Set in Sixth Year  Harry/Hermione brother/sister relationship, Harry/Ginny pairing.


**DISCLAIMER: I own it. 'Cause, you know, I labeled this a "disclaimer" for no reason. And I'm TOTALLY J.K.R. just having a ball on when I could be getting stuff published...**

**A/N: Harry has a problem. What else to do but go to his big sister? However...who says he's gonna make it easier for everyone and actually **_**tell her what the problem is**_**?**

_When in doubt, go to the library._

The phrase was one I had heard so many times that it now played a mantra in my head whenever I was faced with a problem.

This is not helpful while confronting Death Eaters, however, it happens to be quite helpful with my quest at the moment: Finding Hermione Granger.

The dim, dusty library was just as quiet as Madam Pince liked it, and I located my friend easily amongst the shelves, even though she had books stacked around her so high that the only part of her clearly visible was the top of her bushy head.

"Hello, Harry," she murmured absently without even glancing up at me.

"Er, hi. How did you know -"

"You are the only person who smells so consistently of Treacle Tart," she replied, looking up just long enough to shoot me a grin before smothering herself in _Advanced Arithmancy _once more.

"Er, right," I said, a little uncertainly, sitting down across from her and crossing my arms on the table, resting my head on them. Now that I was here, I was uncertain how to broach the subject I wanted to talk to her about.

"I take it you didn't just come up here to watch me study; you and Ron usually avoid the library like the plague," she stated blandly.

"Well, actually, I have...sort of a problem," I confessed, grudgingly and truthfully.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in a manner that made me wince: Clinical, analyzing...

"Sort of?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I _have_ a problem, but I'm not sure if it needs to be a problem, and since nobody knows about it...it isn't really a problem yet, but if Ron finds out it's sure to be a problem, and if - if - _anyone else_ finds out, it _probably _will be, and I -"

"- Don't know what to do," she finished for me. "Okay, so whats the...er...problem?"

"Well, I - you have to _promise_ not to tell anyone," I stressed, screwing up my face and preparing to tell her against my better judgment. (Hey, _nobody_ wants to be subjected to Hermione's knowing looks! It makes you feel so agitated, and...and _guilty_!)

"Of course," she said primly.

"So, hypothetically speaking, I...ah..._like _someone."

Hermione's eyebrows did their little dance on her forehead, making me scowl.

"Okay. If you really must do the whole "I'm going to speak hypothetically so as to later be able to deny that any of this is true" thing, I suppose I'll play along."

"Er, right. So...we can speak hypothetically?"

Hermione gave a violent sneeze that may or may not have been hiding laughter.

"Yes, Harry, we can speak hypothetically. Go on," she assured me.

"Okay. Eh...speaking _very_ hypothetically, I like someone. And again, _hypothetically_, this...someone...er, doesn't like me. Anymore. Ah...and she sort of has...brothers."

I felt an agitated blush creep over my Adam's apple and spill onto my cheeks.

Hermione's face remained suspiciously blank, but I knew from the telltale twinkle in her dark eyes that she knew exactly what I was talking about.

"Well, are you...friends with any of these brothers?"

I gulped.

"I might be."

"Then talk to Ro - erm - I mean, _him_. Get him on your side. Then ask her out."

"Did you not _hear_ me? She doesn't like me anymore!" I exclaimed, throwing up my hands and making Madam Pince glower at me menacingly.

"So she says," Hermione murmured cryptically, grinning like a pixie and slinging her bag over her shoulder before prancing out of the library in a very self-satisfied way.

"This _was_ all hypothetical, anyway," I grumbled after her.

"Right. Of course. Then, _speaking hypothetically_, get off your arse and ask Ginny out," she called over her shoulder.

I scowled.

So much for hypothetical terms.


End file.
